


Dust to Dust

by KurtsAnatomy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Missing Scene, Triwizard Tournament
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-19 23:07:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18980215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KurtsAnatomy/pseuds/KurtsAnatomy
Summary: "Harry felt the tears well in his eyes as he clenched his fists to try to stop them. His head had pounded well into the night with all the crying he had done. It was bad enough that Voldemort was back, that the man who murdered his parents had taken a new form right in front of him, using his body, but that Cedric had died was more than he could handle."Harry shares his memories of Cedric with Amos Diggory, and tries to find a way to cope with his grief.





	Dust to Dust

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by 'Dust to Dust' by The Civil Wars.

As the memories of the previous night clung to his skin, and with Dumbledore’s words swimming around his mind like tiny piranhas, Harry found himself wandering around the castle grounds, feeling the crunch of the grass beneath his feet, looking up at the sky.

He was pondering, as he was sure most of the students were, what happened after death. Wizarding society had no realms of religions to explain afterlives and reincarnated spirits, but they had ways of communicating with the departed, ghostly footprints that lingered. He had spent four years talking to Nearly Headless Nick, but he had never really registered what it had meant to talk to the dead. He had attended that most peculiar death-day party, yet it had never sunk in. 

Harry had been marked by death since he was but an infant, something that angered him every time he thought about it. When Hagrid had told him the story about his parents’ demise, Harry had created a memory based on the story. He knew he didn’t remember what had happened, but the false memory felt as real as anything he had ever experienced. 

But now he had truly experienced death, seen it first hand. Quirrell hadn’t counted since he hadn’t really _died._ Truth be told he had no idea what happened to Quirrell. Young Tom Riddle had been a similar case, he was a memory. 

So seeing the body of Cedric Diggory twist across the graveyard and land with a resounding thud on the grass was something that Harry knew he would never be ready to deal with. Cedric had stepped in front of him, protected him, even though they were competitors. Harry knew there wasn’t a counter for the Killing Curse, or else his parents would’ve thought of it, but he wondered what Cedric’s plan was when he heard those words spat venomously from Wormtail’s mouth. He stood in full height, ready to face what befell him. Had he had time to register what was happening? What was his final thought? 

Harry felt the tears well in his eyes as he clenched his fists to try to stop them. His head had pounded well into the night with all the crying he had done. It was bad enough that Voldemort was back, that the man who murdered his parents had taken a new form right in front of him, _using_ his body, but that Cedric had died was more than he could handle. 

It didn’t matter that he had won the Triwizard Tournament, because he hadn’t really. Harry was determined to declare Cedric the winner in his memory, but Dumbledore had been quick to remind him that the departed could not win Tournaments, that the esteem and the money had to be awarded to somebody. As Harry was the only surviving Champion to touch the Cup, he would be declared the winner. He hated that more than anything. Yet another accolade or title that had come from the death of another person. The glory that he didn’t truly earn. He had always been supposed to make it to the end. Barty Crouch Jr. had seen to that, ensured that Harry would ‘win’. Yet it wasn’t really winning when the prize was landing in a haunted graveyard to be a pawn in the resurrection of the darkest wizard known to mankind. 

Harry laughed mirthlessly as he walked out of the Wooden Bridge, spilling out into the Stone Circle. As Harry looked up into the sky, he was startled by shallow sobs that were sounding from nearby. Making sure he himself was not the source of the noise, Harry followed it to the other side of one of the stone pillars. His breath caught in his throat as he saw perhaps the last person who would want to see him right now. 

“Harry.” 

Harry swallowed whatever was going on in his throat and nodded politely. “Mr Diggory.” 

“Sit down, won’t you?” Amos Diggory patted the grassy hill next to him, where he was pulling out chunks of grass that would replace themselves after being ripped from the Earth. 

Harry lingered a moment but withered under Amos’ almost desperate look. 

“I’ve never been any good at grief,” Amos chuckled darkly. 

Harry felt the familiar stinging in his eyes and shrugged, letting the tears spill down his cheeks. “Mr Diggory, I’m really sorry.” 

Amos placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, squeezing tightly. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Harry. From what I can gather, you saved my boy’s life in that maze.”

Harry looked awkwardly down at the ground. “I couldn’t save him when it mattered.” 

Amos removed his hand, shaking his head. “What were you supposed to do against the Killing Curse? You should know better than anyone that you can’t stop it when it comes.” 

Harry wiped his eyes. “I could’ve done _something_.” 

The weight of that revelation crushed Harry. He had been thinking it the whole time he had been back since the graveyard, but he had never really understood what it was he could’ve done, he just felt unrelenting guilt swelling in his chest whenever he thought about Cedric. He could’ve pushed Cedric out of the way, he could’ve done _something._

“Will you tell me what happened? I’d like to hear it from you.” 

Harry turned to face Amos, leaning against the pillar. He talked briefly about Cedric helping him out with the Second Task in reciprocation for Harry’s gesture in the First Task and then moved onto the Maze. He described Barty Crouch Jr.’s machinations, using the Imperius Curse on Viktor. He made sure to tiptoe around the issue of Cedric being afflicted with the Cruciatus Curse, but Amos’ flinch did nothing to soothe him. He talked about saving Cedric then, and the Acromantula they fought off together, explaining that Cedric had done most of the heavy lifting. Amos looked proud at that, but then Harry arrived at the graveyard part of the story, and he could almost see the sorrow clouding Amos’ eyes. He found it hard to maintain eye contact but knew that he had to see the story through. 

And then he came to the part that he had a feeling Dumbledore had not mentioned to Amos. 

“When my spell collided with… _his_ , something strange happened. It was like the people who had died because of his wand were coming out of it, as apparitions or something. Dumbledore called it Priori Incantatem. I don’t really know much about it. But I heard Cedric talking to me, through a mist of some kind. He asked me to take his body back to you. The apparitions distracted Voldemort and I managed to get back to the school with the body. And…well, you know the rest.” 

Amos nodded, openly weeping by this point. It was only in this still moment of complete vulnerability that Harry saw the resemblance between Cedric and Amos Diggory. He was willing to bet that Amos had been just as handsome as Cedric in his youth. 

Amos’ sobs were the only thing separating the two from a deep silence, Harry’s shallow breathing inaudible as the warm breeze rippled across the grounds. 

As he looked across the grounds as the place where the Maze once was before Dumbledore had dissembled it, Harry had an idea. 

“Mr Diggory, I was wondering if I could talk to you about something.” 

Amos sniffled, nodding. “Anything, Harry.”

Harry realised he hadn’t really thought about it more than he would have liked, but his instincts had served him quite well this year, he rather thought. “I tried naming Cedric as the Tournament’s winner, but the Goblet wouldn’t let me. Cedric got to that Cup first. Without Voldemort’s scheming, I wouldn’t have even made it past the First Task. Cedric was always going to win that Tournament.” 

Harry took a deep breath. 

“I want your family to have the prize money.” 

Amos shifted in his position. “Harry, that’s a thousand Galleons. I couldn’t possibly.” 

Harry shook his head, growing increasingly adamant about his wishes. “I don’t want it. I didn’t earn it, I was helped along in this Tournament. Your son blew everyone else out of the water. I don’t know what help it could be to you, but I’d like it if you took the money.”

Amos smiled. “That’s a very lovely gesture, Harry, but it wouldn’t feel right.”

Harry nodded, patient. “I didn’t know Cedric that well, but do you think there’s something he would’ve liked to do with it? A donation of some kind, maybe?” 

“I think you know my son better than you think you do.” 

Harry thought about that, thought about what he did know about Cedric, besides that he was a great man. He thought about where they had first met, what seemed like a lifetime ago during Harry’s third year when they played opposite each other at Quidditch. 

“Do you know how we properly met?” 

Amos shook his head. 

“It was last year, during Quidditch season. We were competing in a match and I had a bad reaction to the Dementors who had intruded the pitch and I fell off my broom. Cedric caught the Snitch and won the game, but he didn’t want the victory. He wanted to replay the match in fair conditions. Oliver Wood said that Hufflepuff deserved the win, which was very out of character I might add. After I got out of the hospital wing, Cedric immediately came up to me and apologised for what happened, saying that I probably would have caught the Snitch if the Dementors hadn’t interfered.” 

Amos smiled, tears dried on his skin. “That’s my boy. He was always fair, always rooting for everyone to win. He wrote about you in his letters you know. He was surprised that you tipped him off about the dragons, and wanted a way to make it up to you.

“He was such a caring boy, Harry. It’s nice to know that he died protecting someone.” 

A wave of overwhelming anger surged through him. “It shouldn’t have happened like that!” 

Amos knocked his head against the pillar behind him. “You’re right. Believe me, I’m furious at Dumbledore for letting this happen. I’ve made a motion to cancel the Tournament once and for all.” 

Harry agreed profusely with that arrangement. The Tournament did no good for anyone. 

Amos slowly got to his feet, Harry following suit. “Thank you for talking to me, Harry. It helps to know the full story.” 

“Anything I can do.” 

“What do you think you’ll do with the money?” 

Harry just shrugged, Amos patting him on the shoulder and leaving him hidden behind the stone pillar. 

As Harry descended further into the grounds, in no state to return to the castle and deal with the stares and the naysayers, he traipsed through the exterior as he looked at the newly erected Quidditch Pitch. As he stared wistfully as the trio of large, looming hoops, Harry had an idea.

_The Cedric Diggory Memorial Ground._

He made a note to propose the idea to Professor Dumbledore, as well as arrange some other sort of memorialisation for Cedric’s life and legacy at Hogwarts. He would talk to Professor Sprout about that one. 

Harry knew that this ache would last possibly his entire life. He no longer wanted to sleep because he knew what he would see. Dreams of Cedric’s mangled corpse were worse than his psychic links to Voldemort. Every step he took, he thought about Cedric, and what he would be doing now. Anger coursed through him as he thought about Barty Crouch Jr., who deserved a brutal death, not the easy way out. He felt deceived, so much that when he had laid eyes on the real Alastor Moody, he had not wanted to speak with him. Moody had understood, but ask that Harry think twice about that the next time they crossed paths. 

He hadn’t been able to talk to Hermione or Ron about this particular issue. Hermione was always there to console him and give him helpful advice, and Ron was always there with a joke for the sake of levity, but Harry wanted to feel the grief for a while, to let Cedric’s death mean something, to allow him to change and to grow in a way that would help him in the coming war. He thought that Cedric meant more than just a few days of wallowing. 

He didn’t even want to think about the next time he saw Wormtail, who bore the same amount of his rage as Voldemort and Crouch Jr. He knew that amount of anger wasn’t healthy, but he didn’t know what else to do with everything he was feeling. 

He looked up as he saw what he thought was Hedwig soaring into the sky, swirling around the grounds, free of all restraints. As Harry’s gaze pierced the clouds, he wondered if Cedric could see him now, if he had been present for his conversation with Amos. 

He didn’t know what would come, but he knew that he was going to fight his hardest to win the war that would probably arrive sooner than he thought. 

For Cedric. 


End file.
